


Everything's Always Backwards

by Toshi_Nama



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mild Gore, Of Course That Happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-16 13:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20826050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshi_Nama/pseuds/Toshi_Nama
Summary: With what might as well have been a shotgun marriage, Alistair and Anora have nothing in common.  What would it take to turn this relationship into a marriage in truth?





	Everything's Always Backwards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amarmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarmeme/gifts), [DragonRider1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonRider1/gifts), [Ginipig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginipig/gifts).

What...what had just happened?

He tried to shake the hum out of his head, along with the dancing spots, but there was  _ something  _ about that hum he should recognize.

It couldn’t have been a mother – or Eamon. Eamon was worse at singing than  _ he  _ was, according to Teagan.

There was a sudden clash and growl.  _ Those  _ didn’t sound good. More, they sounded far too close. Then the rumble turned into an all-too familiar roar of hate and hunger. No,  _ taint  _ and hunger. The hum. That’s where he recognized it.

Alistair scrambled to his feet, promising his head he’d throw up later. He always threw up later, so it was an easy promise. Unfortunately, his head knew that, too, and kept throbbing. He’d gotten tossed. That was it. Not the first time. Another clash and a high shout. He looked around blearily; a figure without armor, but thingie in hand, no,  _ sword  _ in hand, was facing down – yep, an ogre. He didn’t need to see clearly to recognize something twelve feet tall and purple-black.

_ Ogre.  _ His armor was missing, too. “Dream, maybe?”

“Alistair, some help would be nice!”

It was the wrong voice, but even in a dream he wasn’t going to ignore that unusually tight shout. Sword? Check. Shield? He fumbled a moment, then set it on his arm. Check.

There was a way – he’d never learned it, though. He hadn’t had the time. So instead of using his own connection to the taint to get the thing’s attention, he went for a shout of his own. Well, a sort-of shout. “Pick on someone uglier than you!”

Did it matter if the thing heard? He charged anyhow. Got to get it away from her. Got to get the hum out of his head, so he could go back to throwing up...no, being a Warden...no, being a king? When was he stupid enough to agree to be a king?

Luckily his body didn’t need anything from his head other than a direction. Alistair’s feet followed their own path, straight at the knee in front of him. Knee. Yes, that would work. He barrelled in, shield and shoulder setting themselves right for an eighty-stone impact.

_ That  _ got the thing’s attention. Probably. It didn’t matter. Hack at the leg. Mahariel had pointed out there was a vein in there somewhere, and even darkspawn bled.

“Maker, I forgot how much you stink,” he muttered. The blood was worse, but he had plenty of practice.  _ Throw up later. Throw up later.  _ There was always a later, if only so his stomach would settle.

**

Later happened. Leaning on his shield and the ogre’s ugly chest, Alistair puked with that mingled embarrassment and relief he always had.  _ ‘It’s fine, Al. It makes the thing smell better.’  _ But it wasn’t his sword-brother who huddled further off, throwing up herself.

“Puke...on the Darkspawn. Stinks less.”

“I’d rather not, thank you.” With another heave, the woman stood. Familiar woman.

Alistair had a feeling he should try to shake off this concussion, but shaking a concussion was bad, right? “Oh – yeah. The blood’s bad.”

At least the humming had stopped. That was good. No more darkspawn. He staggered most of the way toward her, then the ground decided it missed him too much.

**

The hand cracked against his cheek. “Wake up! You need to wake up.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“I don’t  _ care.  _ You have a concussion, Alistair.”

Oh. That’s right. Concussion. Alistair cracked one eye open, and looked at the grime-streaked face above him. Wait… “Anora?”

“Of course. If you’re trying to worry me, you’re doing a good job.”

That would be bad.

“Yes, it would be.”

Anora. “That’s right. Oooh…” Alistair’s eyes flew open as he sat up. “Anora!” She wasn’t a Warden. “Did you get any blood on you? Let me check.” No. Surely not.  _ Please,  _ Andraste…

She kind of looked like Andraste.

What was he thinking. Head to one side, he promised his stomach  _ again  _ that he’d deal with it when it was more convenient. Like next week. Right now, he rubbed his hands on the grass, then started checking her over. At least she was close.

Her hair – matted. Her face – temples – neck...nothing so far. Anora’s shirt was glued to her body with sweat, but she must have dodged the worst of the – ogre yuck. “You fought it,” he breathed. “Don’t you know how dangerous that is?”

“I didn’t have much choice while you were flying through the air.” Even with the tartness running through her brisk words, he smiled.

“I’m surprised he could get me off the ground.”

That got a snort. “The way you’ve attacked the royal kitchens? So was I. Alistair,” she changed the subject, “you...you didn’t even hesitate. You just picked yourself up and charged.”

She thought he was a hero? He bit off another self-deprecating remark as she leaned in and kissed him.

She tasted terrible, but he figured he had no right to complain, given how much he smelled like ogre. Besides – he had practice, but  _ she  _ hadn’t hesitated either. He’d seen what happened to people who hesitated. That, too, was stuffed to one side. Alistair didn’t care about the randomness his mind came up with, not with what was going on right  _ now.  _ And then he kissed her back, and nothing else really mattered at all.

**

“Well,” Alistair said to the sky, one hand still playing with the wisp of hair that had slipped from Anora’s braids, “that was unexpected.”

She sighed into his chest. “It’s not like you and I haven’t –”

He could feel himself turning red. “I know! I know, but it’s also not like we  _ have  _ that often. Besides, you were the hero. I was the idiot.”

He whuffed as her fist met his ribs.

“Hey!”

“That is enough. You are no idiot. I thought so at first, but…” a hand turned his cheek enough to see her up on her elbow, looking fixedly at him, “I was wrong.”

_ Don’t say it, don’t say it… _

One lip twitched.

_ Witch. She  _ knows. 

“You  _ care,  _ Alistair. I’ve not been blind to how much you’ve done with the Alienage or the parts of the city the Blight destroyed – even working with poor Loryn to resettle the refugees from South Reach.” Anora sighed. “I never should have let things get so bad, but I was having to manage the entire kingdom.”

Her eyes went distant.

Somehow, he still managed to not open his mouth.

“You’re something I’d never thought to have: a partner. And then this, today…” she waved vaguely in the direction of the if-only-it-was-rotting hulk, “I realized I could have lost it all.”

Alistair blinked.

She watched him.

“Oh.”

“So don’t you dare call yourself an idiot. You’ve proven to be anything but. You’re caring, and dedicated, and were willing to risk everything a moment ago to keep me safe.”

Said the woman who’d been defending them both from the ogre. Maybe that giant story was true. Maybe… “Maker, I love you.”

Her face made him realize – he’d said it. Out loud. He hadn’t before. Did he mean it? Oh, yes. Yes, he did.

**

Much later, he had the chance to free a hand and lazily reach for the picnic basket.  _ Of course, _ Alistair thought, setting things out as his wife slipped back into a shirt.  _ His  _ shirt, but he wasn’t going to mention that.  _ Why not fall in love with a woman almost a year after you marry her, because she was the one to defend you both from the ogre until you could stand up straight? Makes perfect sense. Backwards. I’m doing it backwards.  _

Then again, as he watched her smile before opening a bottle of wine, maybe he didn’t mind. Here was a pretty good place to be. Well, except for the ogre corpse. “Can we just...not mention this to the guards?”

Anora’s eyes widened. “What, the picnic?”

“Nooo...I was thinking the ogre. There aren’t any more around, and they’ll never let us sneak off again if we tell them.”

She chuckled. She had a nice chuckle, he decided.

“I won’t if you don’t, dear.”

Dear.

Yeah, maybe this wasn’t so bad.


End file.
